


The Great Bardic Bum Injury of 1260

by withanie



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, in Geralt's defense the floor started it, is that too much to ask?, or honestly closer to comfort/comfort, they're just snuggly little beans, violence against a floor, who like cuddling and beds big enough to fit both of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:17:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withanie/pseuds/withanie
Summary: "There's only one bed!"  - not a trope that fazes Geralt and Jaskier. But what if there were only two single beds in their room at the local inn?They'd share one, of course. But the beds are awfully small...This is just about as adorable as anything I've ever written in my life. Please brush your teeth after consuming.Reposted from my tumblr (the-story-is-this) with slight changes.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 278





	The Great Bardic Bum Injury of 1260

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [punk-jaskier](https://punk-jaskier.tumblr.com/post/190805815939)'s post:  
> 'Geralt and Jaskier but REVERSE "there's only one bed" trope, since it's canon that they like to sleep in the same bed.
> 
> 'They get up to their room at the inn and "oh no, there's two small beds" and they spend half the night being uncomfy until one of them says "FUCK IT" and they sleep completely tangled together on one basically twin sized mattress.'

"It's our only room left," the innkeeper says. "You can take it or leave it."

Geralt sighs and snatches the key being dangled in front of his face. "We'll take it," he says.

"They can't be _that_ small," Jaskier says as they climb the stairs. "We'll manage, I'm sure."

They're small. Too small for a witcher and a bard, anyway, to share comfortably.

Jaskier sighs. "Separate beds it is, then," he says. "It's only a few days, I suppose."

But they don't even make it a few hours. Geralt hasn't slept at all when, a few hours into the night, he hears Jaskier sigh. "Geralt? Are you awake?"

Geralt moves over as much as he can manage. "Come on then," he says. "We'll give it a try. Don't fall out," he adds as Jaskier crawls under the covers and nestles into Geralt's arms. 

"I won't," Jaskier says sleepily.

They both fall asleep easily after that, despite the bed's size.

They've planned for several days in this town: Jaskier’s agreed to perform for a few nights at a local festival, and Geralt has a few separate monsters he's been contracted to dispatch.

Again, the next night, they squeeze into the same tiny bed, and at first they're able to fall happily (if crowdedly) asleep.

Then Geralt breathes a little too deeply, or Jaskier twists slightly in his sleep, or some other small adjustment occurs: in any case, Jaskier falls off the bed.

Geralt wakes to realize his chest is suddenly cold with Jaskier’s absence, and light without his weight. He peers over the edge of the bed to find Jaskier blinking sleepily up at him from the floor, rubbing at his bum where he’d landed.

"Hmmm," Geralt says.

The next morning, the innkeeper takes a complaint from the couple in the room underneath Geralt and Jaskier’s. “They were moving furniture in the middle of the night, I swear it!” the woman says indignantly, and the man nods. “Sounded like they were draggin’ the bed on the floor, and not yet three in the mornin’ it must’ve been. You best examine your floors up there, Master Innkeeper.”

The innkeeper has heard this complaint many times, as anyone who has ever had a neighbor above them must know. He apologizes, assures them he will investigate, and promptly forgets all about it.

Until several days later, after the bard and the witcher leave. They do look very happy and well-rested. As they walk out the door, the bard is good-naturedly teasing the witcher, and the witcher looks down at the bard fondly, smiling.

(Smiling! The innkeeper hadn’t even known witchers _could_ smile!)

Later, when he inspects the room as he always does, he finds that the couple from a few days ago were correct: the beds have been pushed together. The floors do look to have a new scratch, too, but it’s far from the first. Besides, some kind of wood oil has been carefully rubbed into the new scratch.

The innkeeper supposes there could be worse guests, considering. After all, the bard was very good for business, as was the killing of the drowners, and the siren in the woods that lured his customers off the roads leading to town.

Yes, he will welcome those two back, if ever they return, furniture-moving bedamned.

Meanwhile, back at the Great Bardic Bum Injury of 1260, Jaskier is giggling sleepily as Geralt picks him up and tosses him onto their rumpled bedsheets, then drags the bed (along with Jaskier) aside its mate. Geralt carefully inspects Jaskier’s rump— “Geralt, it’s fine! Probably won’t even bruise. Now come back to me.” Jaskier tugs at a pillow with one hand and reaches for Geralt with the other. “Help me with these blankets!”

So Geralt does.

They fall asleep entangled in one another, Jaskier holding onto Geralt like he’s the Continent’s largest stuffed bear, his head pillowed on Geralt’s chest. Geralt’s hand is protectively cupping Jaskier’s injured bum. He falls asleep listening to the bard’s breathing.

When Jaskier wakes the next morning, Geralt has already risen. Jaskier finds him kneeling on the floor, running his fingers over a bright new scratch on the pine floorboards. Geralt looks up at the bed and, seeing Jaskier peering down, says, “We scratched the floor.”

“‘ _We_ ’? I like that,” Jaskier laughs. “I don’t recall dragging a bed around in the middle of the night.”

“The floor did you an injury,” Geralt says seriously. “I was defending your honor.”

“Defending my honor,” Jaskier repeats, stepping out of bed. He grabs his lute case from where it leans against the wall, drops to the floor beside Geralt, and begins digging in a side pocket of the lute case.

“Yes. And your dignity.”

“I hadn’t even realized my dignity was in danger,” Jaskier comments. “Ha! Found it!” He pulls his instrument polish and a cloth from the pocket he’s been searching, and begins to work the polish into the new scratch, as Geralt watches.

“Waste of polish,” Geralt says after a minute.

“Because of my dignity?”

“Yes. And because that stuff is expensive.”

Jaskier shrugs. “I can buy more,” he says. “And you can give my poor wounded bottom the same treatment if you want, once I’m done.” He winks mischievously at Geralt.

“Acceptable,” Geralt grunts. “Except…”

Jaskier looks up, smiling. “Except?”

“You first,” Geralt growls, grinning, and reaches for him. Jaskier yelps, saving the bottle of polish as it begins to tip. Then, he lets himself be lifted onto their large new bed, and both of them forget, for a time, about floors scratches, or polish, or too-small beds.


End file.
